


Child of Wrath

by scorpiorising



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9912755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiorising/pseuds/scorpiorising
Summary: My first work in English ever. It's probably horrible, but I had to try my hand at it anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first work in English ever. It's probably horrible, but I had to try my hand at it anyway.

“Only three”, the fiend rose his clawed hand upward, with his second showing a small scrap of parchment. His long face showed badly hidden contempt. “You ain’t gettin’ nothin’ cheaper, friend. You take that or I sell that to other suckers. Pah!”

He spat. The merchant massaged his chin, pondering and slowly put three coins forward. The parchment price.

The spell was simple, perhaps even simpleton. Having exited the fiend shop into the crowded and stinking street, Monty turned into an alley, heading a couple breaths toward the city core. After that he turned again, arriving at a dead end. He put his eyeglasses on his crooked nose. He spread the parchment before himself and read:

_THE THOUGHT-ECHO CARD. SAY “I AM” AND SAY THE THOUGHT. FOLD THE CARD, SEAL AND GIVE TO THE RECIPIENT._

was a small footnote at the bottom:

_BY: THE FLYING SHOP OF MO’KAI, THE BEST SPELLERY IN ALL DOMAINS._

parchment was a simple spell that allowed writing a couple minutes of speech on it. Also, every time the spell was cast, the parchment always turned into something that did not resemble it. Always a random illusion. This was a Mo’kai’s shop specialty: the spells were unpredictable. With gnomes, entertainment was a matter of course.

man uttered a sigh. For him being an apprentice of the Gilded Masters, the assassin’s guild in the City of Thorns, the job could be boring indeed, as boring as managing a pack of hired murderers could be. It all boiled down to managing people, after all.

man broke the red seal and said the word and then the parchment unfolded completely by itself. Waiting.

”, the tone of the man’s voice was dry and matter-of-fact. “As your first job for our beloved organization you are going to…”

man spoke for a couple moments more. When he was through, he watched as the parchment began to change. As it folded, wrinkled and blackened. As it gained a brownish color, flowed and stinked.

Suddenly the worried man considered a change of means of communication and encrypting messages, as well as a change of heart about worshippers of Chaos.

* * *

“...you shall do the following”, said the unfolded parchment that vibrated with small string, perfectly mimicking the old man’s voice.

Cassius, of course, wasn’t exactly sure at first. Having arrived at the agreed place, he opened the wooden box and then he found nothing more than something that looked like dung of some unknown creature.

He read the spell that they gave him slowly, careful not to omit even a word. For magic was a capricious mistress, one mistake could often lead to the worst consequences. He wasn’t a weaver himself, but he had known a couple of fools who had mistaken themselves for such. All of them were dead.

The spells, or, a better name for them in the City of Thorns, cantrips, were manifestations of one’s focused will. Despite thousands of years, the science of spellery was little understood so the weavers always relied on the ways of the old. Very few understood how to engineer new ones. It was too risky to tempt fate.

He whispered the word that they told him earlier. As he expected, the rotting and stinking mass twitched and jerked, losing its form and assuming new. That is, it came back to its former, original form. A message.

“Take a group of few men and go to the Alley of Brambles inn”, the voice hummed in the air. “Find the weaver named Aerwyn. Recover one of his books, the red one. And then come back to me”.

* * *

The already foggy streets seemed to be particularly cloudy around the Alley of Brambles, the air thick with fumes spewed out of the forge. The mercenary navigated through the crowded streets. Here and there, from the buildings and the ground protruded onyx-like stones. Harder than the hardest stones in Maer, they assumed claw-like shapes, giving the city its name. The scholars of the great forge believed that it was because of these crystalline formations the weavers were able to cast their cantrips so easily in the City of Thorns.

Cassius uttered a pained cough. It was a miracle that anyone could live here, in the shade of the forge. He never heard of the inn, but he thought it to be a miracle as well. According to his informant, it had been a home to men practicing an intuitive type of magic, a stark contrast to the forge’s halls, where mages sacrificed every waking hour to consciously perfect their act. Witchery, thought the man, was something akin to wild magic. The worst and most unpredictable kind.

He heard a loud bang and turned his attention toward it. A group of small creatures exploded from a door, laughing uncontrollably, thick smoke following them. One of them, also laughing, caught some fire in its hair.

A great man, red from anger, screamed something after them in a language Cassius didn’t know. Sounded raspy. He started waving some cantrip, but stopped abruptly as the signboard broke from its wobbly hinges and landed on his head.

“ _BY THE POWERS_ ”, the man screamed. “ _NEXT TIME YOU MOLD CONSTRUCTS ON YOUR OWN, YOU KEEP THEM WHERE THEY BELONG. DO THAT NEXT TIME, BOY AND I STICK THAT WAND UP YOUR ARSE, YOU HEAR ME?_ ”

The signboard read: “The House of the Witch”.

* * *

There were four of them. Cassius didn’t remember how exactly he ended up with hanging out with this pack to help him doing his job. Could have been that they also were scumborn, just like him. Scoundrels and miscreants through and through. The rogues reminded him of his early life on the streets of the City of Thorns. Just like him, they cast suspicious looks on him and the surroundings.

“So what’s the tale, friend?”, the voice of the only woman in the group was low and rather raspy. She had hair that some would call pretty, but life in the slums took its toll. Her eyes were tired and angry-looking. Her name was Elka.

Her companions looked similar. All of them armed with elbow-length knives. Razor-sharp, black blades. Not the best kind, but they did their job. _“Nasty steel”,_ a thought flashed in Cassius’s mind.

It was was the slums that dictated their looks, as if every street-born mercenary took an honorary oath to never wear anything clean. No, the party here sported tattered rags of clothing that fit rather loosely, each of them also had a hood. Beside the woman, there was also a large burly man and the other, this time of lanky build.

The giant’s name was Maergryn. He played with his knife with a bored expression on his face. When Cassius entered the room, he grunted approvingly.

The second man’s skin was pale and his hands covered in tattoos, he observed Cassius patiently from the shadow cast by the building’s pillar. He had no name, Cassius remembered. In fact, he couldn’t speak at all and Cassius never bothered to ask him. They always referred to him simply as “him”, or the silent one. The mercenaries couldn’t care less as long as the mute kept doing his job.

The silent one was a tacit weaver, so called. While the adepts of various schools of magic often required copious practice in chanting mantras and linking right words with right gestures. But the mute one seemed to require no such props. An albino of sorts.

“The wizard’s name is Aerwyn. Says he’s a Whitesmith”, said Cassius.

The tacit weaver made a gesture with his hands and symbols rose around his head, conveying a message.

“Forgesmen are no more”, said the weaver through the symbols.

Maergryn’s grunted.

“Fool’s got the cheek to say he still belongs. What’s your business with him anyway…? Give it some time and the shadow of the Thorns sure catches with him, sends him straight to razor bluffs”.

“That”, stressed Cassius, “is exactly what we want to avoid. The man has something of value with him, a book it seems. Problem is, he never leaves the inn and no one knows where he hides the book. That’s what our employer wants us to do”.

“We get the book, then we get the coin”, the woman said plainly. “What if I get you the wizard?”

“If you manage to”, Cassius smiled. “He has little value for us. It’s the volume that matters. If I can’t get my hands on it, his corpse won’t do me no good. Are you in it or not?”

Elka gave a hesitating look to Maergryn. “Ain’t no clean work”, said Elka. But the burly fighter shook his head in disapproval.

“Can do, chief”, Maergryn moved from his place. “Just let me be clear on somethin’ with you, I can kill the mage if he makes the trouble, I heard that right?”

“What you do with the wizard”, said the man carefully, “is your own thing”.

* * *

The air was steamy and smelled of herbs and, well, magic, if one was attuned to smell such fragrances.

The wizard bent the air, molded it, it crashed and scorched and changed its color, only to explode in thousands colorful sparks that turned into little diamonds. Then, they disappeared into thin air.

At the same time, a dozen of little small creatures hopped about doing small tricks on their own. Most of them did just the same thing the wizard did, only on a smaller scale: small fireworks danced in the room, setting candles aflame with fantastic colors. The bored audience of workers cheered as the tall, bearded man performed.

“Ha-haa!”, the old man bellowed triumphantly transmogrifying a chair into a swarm of butterflies. He made a deep bow to his audience, took a huge whiff off his pipe and turned around towards the backstage.

“Another glorious success for Aerwyn, the master of magic extraordinaire”, he beamed. And then, he disappeared with a loud bang and smoke that attracted more cheers.

The backstage was a mess, as usual. Wigs and costumes laid chaotically on the floor, waiting to be cleaned up by stage hands. The wizard, Aerwyn, looked at these props with amused look. These were the parts of the little machines that still danced on the stage. Wires, legs, glass eyes and fragmented arms laid, thrown around haphazardly. The constructs animated by magic danced and cast their own cantrips on the stage.

Among the props, a boy stood with an impatient expression on his face, rummaging through the contents of a big brown bag. His expression was serious, but not angry. He knew his master too well to know that any emotion won’t have an effect on the old man.

“How much more, master?”, said the wizard’s apprentice. “Surely, we cannot spend the rest of our lives in here?”

“Once the job is done”, the smile never left the wizard’s lips as he poured himself a cup of wine. “And I have good news to you, my little friend. It seems I have finally found what we were looking for”.

The boy’s brows rose. “Really?”

“That’s right. And guess who’s going to open the portal to the place? You, my dear child. I hope you studied your lessons well”, the wizard mused, stroking his beard. “I didn’t schedule this little trip of ours with your auntie Lucilla so that you botch it. The book, you know”.

“Yes… Yes, of course”, the boy said seriously. “I was just tired. We spent a long time searching for this… Place. And you playing a wizard and all”.

“Yep”, the old man nodded fervently and then took deep sip. “It’s all ending today. You open the portal, we go in, do the job. We leave this place forever”.

As the wizard spoke, he made a small gesture with his left hand, no more noticeable than a blink.

“Besides”, said the old man. “The best guise for a wizard is a wizard. Wizards never dress up and entertain crowds like I do. Nothin’ wrong with little charade like that every now and then, you catch my drift, Cerdic? Your aunt was the most generous, giving me the exact location of the book”.

“Don’t you know the place where you bury your own things?”, asked the boy.

“That’s the trick, boy. I did hide the book alright, you see. But I asked my sister to take this memory away from me, her being the expert at mind-weaving. Nasty little things, memories”.

“The witch sure knows many tricks”, Cerdic nodded. “But shedding memories is anything but wise. What if she tampered with them, changed them?”

“Eh, I trust my sister”, the old man waved his hand. “Besides, it ain’t much I let her took. Only a memory of something I once wanted to go away. Now I want to have it destroyed… Whatever that was”.

“I will prepare the props”, said the apprentice and the old man nodded with satisfaction.

“And take the bag-o-tricks!”, said the wizard. “No performer can do without his bag and I’m no exception. It will help us on our way”. Then, the boy took the bag and left.

Silently, Aerwyn cast a cantrip as he looked at the boy. The old man’s irises gleamed with cantrip’s infused energy; he looked at the boy and then he looked at the thoughts surrounding him. He scanned them one by one, looking at their colors, taste and depth. And then with satisfaction, he realized that every single one of them was as just as he left them once he constructed them. It seemed that the boy was growing just right. “Perfect”, he thought.

“Once I’m done with my next performance I will join you”, the wizard grinned flamboyantly. “I am sure that you will prove to be up to the challenge once more”.

* * *

The apprentice stood before the wardrobe door and waited for the sign given by Aerwyn. The old man closed the book and motioned him to begin. He seemed to be thinking about something entirely else, this little test only happening as a matter of course. The weaver poured himself more wine, ready to watch his student do his job.

The location of the City of Thorns made it a natural place to open portals - wormholes through reality. Every weaver could do that, but only in the City was it so easy.

Then, the boy began summoning portal.

“Ethil. Nume’ra naa ethul, ka-zak”, the apprentice intoned and Aerwyn nodded with an agreeing look on his face. So he continued, feeling the magic flowing through his hands and concentrating right before him.

“Concentrate more on the destination”, Aerwyn’s voice was quiet, but firm. “Else you botch the formula”.

He concentrated more, but there was something off, something he could not quite put his finger on. As the energy condensated into a pulsing orb of light, Cerdic felt that he was losing more and more control.

“Not as good as I thought”, the master frowned. “You’re going to rehearse this, Cerdic”.

He took a sip of wine as Cerdic desperately trying to concentrate, but he could feel that the energy was slipping mind’s grip. The elegant solution became messy and the orb throbbed violently. And then, he felt someone else’s tug on the energy current. He took it off him and molded it swiftly and without any doubt.

“Not good at all, boy”, he said. We’re going to have a talk about your performance later”.

He took the orb in his hand spread the whirling energy with little effort, and the ball expanded into a vortex. “Many mistakes in parts that we have covered a long time ago and that should be firmly grounded in that noggin of yours. You started well, but you lack the patience for finishing”.

Cerdic blushed and mumbled a troubled sorry, but the wizard only shook his head.

“But this will do for now”, he said as the tunnel in expanded. “We have no more time on learning how to make portals. Are you ready now, Cerdic?”

The wizard probed the boy’s thoughts gently, touching the surface of his thoughts. The portal swirled in motion, as if inviting to step inside. Everything seemed to be in order, the boy thought.

“Yes”, Cerdic answered firmly, shaking off his previous doubt.

“Good”, said the master and entered the portal. The apprentice followed suit. Only recently he became accustomed to portal traveling. Such journeys used to make him sick. The brief moment of entering the portal stole air from boy’s lungs. He felt turbulent motion, something almost like pain and then… Everything stopped. They arrived already.

They were in. The portal buzzed for a little while longer, and then closed, the last emanations of energy dimming, being extinguished like candles without the will that reinforced them.

“Time was not kind to these old walls, yes?”, the old master mused, looking at the rune-covered walls. They were in a small corridor of some sort, with the entrance part completely caved in. The end of the wizard’s staff shined with bright light as he turned toward the other end. He walked slowly as he read the worn inscriptions on the walls, as if he was remembering something.

“Have you ever been here before?”, the apprentice asked.

“Many years ago I was an initiate at this temple to my master, just as you are today to me”, he explained. “Too bad that the cult of true magic was struck down. All that remains now is these ruins”.

“This temple holds something that belongs to me. I left it here and I am sure that these ruins still hide that what is rightfully mine”, he continued. “But look, the adoration chamber!”

The corridor ended. The light coming through the shattered roof illuminated crumbled naves that surrounded the central part of the chamber. As they slowly continued on their way towards the center (little clouds of dust rose with each of their steps).

The temple seemed to be somehow merged with a laboratory or a forge of some sort, Cerdic was not sure. Among the naves, broken pieces of laboratory equipment lay in disarray, each place in the nave having a place where a practitioner would experiment. It only made sense for the god of magic and forge.

Cerdic could discern a large statue in the centre. He needed not ask what sort of deity it was since he learned much about it during the lessons with his master. It was Sehura, the all-seeing god of magic. While the torso and body of the statue was that of human, its left breast was that of a woman and its head was a formless shape of many faces. For Sehura was a limitless god and personified the multifaceted nature of the magic craft. The arm of the statue fell off, but Cerdic knew that it used to hold a lantern, a symbol of knowledge.

“The book”, said the wizard, blowing the dust off old inscriptions on the floor. “We have finally found it”.

And without any further ado, he began weaving the spell.

* * *

The mercenaries stood in darkness, biding their time. Then, a faint flicker of light at the far end of the forge temple gave the apprentice and wizard away. The tacit weaver, as always, said nothing. Elka also kept silent, only Maergryn chewed on an apple with bored expression on his face.

“So our informant turned out to be alright”, his whisper was a faint mumble. “Good”.

Cassius nodded, and the hooded woman rose without a sound from her knees. So did the leader and the burly warrior, with the silent one remaining behind them.

* * *

The wizard recited slowly his incantation and the ground began to rise around him. The boy saw wizard weaving his magic carefully, patiently, completely unlike himself. The floor near the statue cracked and the stone splinters flew away, driven by the invisible force. Apparently, the wizard knew that there was a hidden alcove under the floor and it hid something that was his. After a brief moment the energy dispersed and he held something in his hand. The boy saw that it was a simple book with red binding. Aerwyn seemed fond of it, though. The old man smiled as he looked at it.

Before the boy could say anything, something hissed in the air and the silhouette of the wizard waved and flickered. The cantrip worked

“Ah, damn it”, the boy heard the voice of a woman. “I knew the old man will have one more spell”.

“Move it”, some other man growled impatiently.

They dispersed quickly and just in time. The figure of the wizard blinked for a split second and disappeared completely. The boy just ran. The silhouettes shifted in the darkness of the forge, preparing for the attack.

* * *

Maergryn rushed forth with an angry grunt, holding shield before himself and a mace behind.

The wizard’s voice vibrated in the air as he conjured a ball of fire that flew immediately to the place where they stood. It exploded, shattering the large man’s shield who flew back. The mercenary could feel tremors going through the old forge. The iron apparati shattered and whatever could burn lit up in an instant.

The wizard sent a suggestion to the boy immediately. “Take the bag and the book. Run. Run!”, echoed the thoughts of the old man inside the mind of the boy, who did just that, without ever thinking.

“I do not know who you are”, his voice boomed in the cavernous forge hall, “but I strongly advise you to go back to wherever you came from”. His voice was as kind as ever, if tainted by a drop of malice.

That was all Elka needed. She threw the glass dust in the general direction where she heard the voice from. The ghostly outline of the invisible wizard appeared, now shrouded in the glass dust.

“Ah, clever, clever”, the silhouette slowly trod between support pillars. He started weaving another spell. “It takes much more to for the magnificent Aerwyn to be dealt with. And now…”

The boy crouched near a crumbled pillar, watching in horror what was happening. The woman was upon the would-be invisible wizard, who was now covered head to toe with glass dust that gleamed in dancing flames of the forge temple. The woman was upon him in seconds. As he kept weaving the cantrip, she silently jumped from above, from the ruined nave above. The blades shined for a moment in the darkness.

“...this!”, the wizard screamed dramatically, as a golden sphere of light suddenly extended beyond him. The woman stopped in mid air and flew back, and then crashed on the floor.

“Fuck!”, the boy heard Cassius. “Restrain him, goddamit!”

“A-HA!”, the wizard beamed with confidence. “Not so sure after all, are you now?”

He began another mantra, and this time green energy began encircling him. He weaved for a while, but then the energy began to wane and dwindle, just like Cerdic’s when he failed his spell. It was the silent wizard, the one from the other end of the hall.

“A tacit weaver”, Aerwyn’s voice grew with annoyance. “Bah!”

The bald man didn’t chant at all like Aerwyn. He merely made gestures in the air, and the energy that the old wizard wielded seemed to flicker. Cassius took another arrow from his quiver and sent it toward him - it stopped of course, but this time the barrier was a little bit weaker. A little bit more transparent. The counterspell worked slowly, but surely.

Maergryn rose from the wreckage with a growl and Cassius followed him. The power of the wizard grew weaker and weaker. The bald man continued to siphon his power mercilessly. That was the last thing the boy saw.

Then he ran even farther.

* * *

It was a dead end. That was the only place Cerdic dared to venture to. He saw them encircling the old man who cried for help and he didn’t - he couldn’t bring himself to do anything. He dimly realized that his shaking hands are clutching the book his master recovered from the old tomb and his bag.

There was nothing here, save for piles of rubble of a caved in corridor. He tried to fold hands in the shape of the mudra that master taught him.

“E-E-Ethil”, he heard his own faint voice in the darkness. He thought he heard steps nearby, but it might have been just his imagination.

He continued to weave, just like before. He tried to concentrate on what lingered here. The tunnel that Aerwyn once opened left a trace. The boy could feel its presence, its distinct vibration in an otherwise dead and unmoving world. If this was a temple of a god of magic, then much time must have passed ever since any sort of magic was done here.

The steps grew closer. Cerdic looked behind himself just for a moment. It was a large, hulking statue of a man. “It’s one of them”, he thought desperately.

And then, suddenly and without warning, the portal opened wide. Hardly believing his own luck, the boy lunged forth. And with him, the large man.

* * *

He realized it was the City of Thorns once again, but this time some different place. So the spell was right, but he must have made some error.

“It’s…”, he muttered to himself, running. “It’s here. The house of the witch”.

He was here only once in his life, but he recognized this place immediately. The desolate walls that once belonged to the Crimson Court were now home to the Red Witch, the Weaver of People’s Fates. Aerwyn’s sister kept away from everyone else or rather, everyone kept away from the witch out of fear of her power. No matter, however, an ally was an ally.

The boy ran. Panting heavily, he could hear the nearing steps of the man. “He’s gaining on me”, Cerdic realized with terror as he stumbled, fell and got up again to run. About to reach the door of the house, he stumbled again and -

“Lookie there”, the man snarled at him. Somehow, Cerdic didn’t think about anything at all, only about the bag of tricks of his master that he still held tight to his body. The breath of the large man stinked. He didn’t mind his kicks and screams at all. He caught him, finally.

Holding him by his scruff, the man took a couple of bites of his apple, and then wiped his mouth. “Told you ain’t gonna outrun me, boy”, said the man. “I’m the fastest in the city, you see. Ain’t there nobody ta outrun me. Now, give me the book, boy”.

But Cerdic only answered with more kicks and screams. He felt dizzy and unreal.

“You want to do this the hard way, fine with me”, the man finished his apple and spat out the core“. Then, without warning, he took a swing and something hard hit Cerdic in the belly that sent him off flying. The fall took all the air out of his lungs.

“I like you alright, boy”, the mercenary continued. “But you wanted to be bad and that’s what you get”, he kicked the boy again in the stomach. Suddenly, feeling that he was fading, he took the bag and smashed against the doors of the house. It opened, of course. The witch didn’t need to fear anyone - or anything, as powerful as she was. Panting heavily and feeling that he was fading, Cerdic took a couple wobbly steps more into the house.

The mercenary shrugged and walked slowly toward the cowering boy. Then, the apprentice remembered something. The smoke bombs in the bag of his master. “Maybe one of them is still there”, the boy thought nervously. Desperately feeling for a familiar shape, he finally grasped something what he thought was one of them and threw it behind himself.

Explosion sent him flying, again. It wasn’t a smoke bomb, he realized. This time, it was a regular one. The man couldn’t suspect it either. He heard his angry scream outside of the door, but he mustered what little strength he had left and went up the stairs. Meanwhile, the mercenary growled obscenities.

It didn’t take him long to get up on his feet again. Opening one of the doors to a chamber, he hastily went in and closed it behind himself. Panicking, he shuffled through the contents of the bag, seeking something that could help him. An invisibility elixir? A teleportation spell? No matter, even if they were there he probably couldn’t use them. And books. Books and more books.

The man was close, he could hear him mumbling and cursing and laying elaborate plans on what he would do to him once he finds him. Cerdic was terrified.

Rummaging through the inside of the bag, one of the books fell out of the bag making a noise. It was the red book from the temple of Sehura. Falling, it made a sound - enough to make him hear it. It opened wide, so that the boy could see its creamy-colored pages.

He blinked, looking in the dark at the book. It unfolded, revealing its contents.

* * *

“You gonna regret it, boy”, the man kicked the door open. It took him very long to calm down. This time, he thrashed the precious urns and furniture. Of course, he didn’t know the boy was able to pull a trick like that on him. “Damn wizards and damn their brats”, he mumbled angrily, kicking another door open. It was the last door. Nowhere left to hide for the boy, he made sure of that.

He saw a silhouette in the middle of the room. Not the boy’s, that’s for sure. This one was larger and thicker, the absurdly muscular torso hunched over, as if praying. Feeling his anger give way to cautiousness, he asked.

“You seen a lil’ boy passin’ through here?”, he decided to maintain his bravado. “Saw him by any chance?”

As the figure twitched and rose, he already knew it was time to run. He ran. He heard steps behind him, fast and irregular like the ones of an animal. And then, a pair of thick, foul-smelling hands covered his face.

* * *

Cerdic felt… Calm. Even when he clumsily snapped the neck of the mercenary, he didn’t quite register what was happening. He felt he should. After all, a death was something ordinary in the City, he saw it happen many times before his eyes. A nice change to the insanity that happened beyond the portal.

After the book opened, it didn’t take long for the process to finish. The spell - whatever it was - exploded in his mind in his body, destroying, transforming every his part and then joining them again. His spine and ribs cracked in couple places and then reformed again. His skin stretched painfully but never broke. It readjusted to the ever-growing mass of muscles. And then it stopped just as suddenly as it started, leaving him twitching from pain on the floor.

The limp corpse slipped from his hands and fell down the stairs like a grotesque doll. He felt a gaze on his back and turned. It was her. The witch. The old woman was hunched over. She held a staff made of crooked wood. Its end was bejeweled with an amethyst. Her grey robe was simple, but she wore a necklace made of bones of small animals. “Rats, perhaps?”, thought the boy.

“I should kill you where you stand”, said the old woman. “For ruining my home and bringing vermin into it”.

“Aerwyn…”, the boy began, but she hissed when he mentioned the name.

“I know what happened to your master”, said the witch. “I knew him… Once, perhaps. But not anymore, no. I know why you came here, boy. You seek answers. But know this that I know none. The mercs were sent by the Gilded Masters, that much is obvious to me. Were they after your master himself? Or perhaps something that he once owned? Indeed, this witch knows answers to none of these questions. Yes…”

The boy shoot a glance at the broken mirror at his side and suddenly realized: he really changed. He looked at his hands, that, once thin and fragile were thick and fleshy. Just like the hands of guild guards he saw, but thicker, much, much thicker. In the shards of the mirror he saw what little remained of his face. Now it was a disfigured mess of skin and flesh.

“...but she may know about the book”, her smile grew.

“Well, what is it?”, he asked, surprised that he dared to ask. “What about the book?”, his voice was low and resembled animal growl. The witch didn’t seem to mind.

“The book you were meant to bring to me was lost to your master many years ago. He renounced it for his brotherhood, you see. A piece of his mind that he could not control, so that he tore it away from him. Separated it, yes… He was too weak to deal with it, so he buried it deep under the ruins of the forge god”.

She coughed horribly and spat.

“But he understood that it was too dangerous to keep it there. If someone ever entered the temple, they would have means of controlling him, shall they ever lay hands on it. So he decided to bring it to me… Destroy it”.

“I read it”, Cerdic mumbled. “And I became… This”.

“Of course you read it, little boy”, the witch smiled crookedly. “You had to read it, didn’t you? You were too curious to see what the book holds. The book reached to you, changed your mind and body. It warped them, absorbed the part of Aerwyn’s mind so that it became yours”.

Cerdic stood silent for a little while, pondering her words. Finally, he spoke:

“Why would my master want to tear a part of his mind?.

“Tear apart, yes…”, the question seemed to amuse the witch. “Understand this, boy: unlike you, the ones who learn the art of weaving the threads of reality and do not dabble at it see human nature as deficient. Because your master foresaw that a part of him would not permit him to excel at his craft, he removed it, yes… Once you set your eyes upon the pages of the book, the power surged forward”.

Feeling his throat dry, the boy spoke:

“What was the part that he tore from himself?”

“Malice, boy”, the witch said. “It was his anger, fury and rage that he extracted from himself. For a mind as fragile as yours, this could be the only consequence. You, his plaything, his own mind”.

“That was one of the things he kept talking about”, the boy said. “I never knew what he meant”.

“Just as the book was meant to contain one of parts of his mind, you were created to become one of many vessels to his thoughts, a body created to hold one of his personalities. A servitor of sorts, just tad more intelligent and self-aware. What was the man’s scheme?”.

She rubbed her chin.

“Aye, this witch does not know the answer to that question, no. You shall ask the weaver himself”.

“I? I am constructed by Aerwyn?”

“Just like those little automata your old master used at the stage. It’s so easy to create a doll and make it walk and talk, you know. You are but another of his creations: this doll not only speaks and walks and talks, it has a mind of its own and it has some essence to weave. Surely, one could mistake it for a human? But it’s a doll all the same, ha. Once you serve your purpose, you will be disassembled, the energies that consist of you will be dispersed.”.

Cerdic stood awkwardly, unable to speak.

“Before you ask this question”, the witch continued. “The question of, why are you telling me this, dear auntie Lucilla? Why are you tormenting me with telling me who I really am? Well, little boy, the games of your master sicken. I’m putting an end to this charade of his by telling his pawn what he is”.

“What now?”, Cerdic asked.

“Why, won’t you pay your master a visit? I am sure he would love to tell you all these things himself”

* * *

Cerdic regarded his looks slowly, very slowly. It took him a long while to get used to his absurdly large juggernaut body. He stood more than two meters high. His muscular body was sure to put many warriors to shame in cage fights. Stony and cold to touch, his skin was definitely human, but somehow tougher and stronger.

The sewers of the City of Thorns were cavernous. The City was built on the ruins of something much older, a complex of ruins that predated it. Still, it did not stop the City council from lodging pipes conducting excrements into the ancient stones. Of course, the dungeons were far from safe. But he could not bring himself to come back to the surface. Not yet.

This place was simple enough to live in. Once perhaps inhabited by a wanderer just like he was now, the alcove in the dark corridor had some furniture (wet and rotting wardrobes used for firewood and absolutely no chairs), one broken mirror that came with it and an old fireplace that looked like it wasn’t used in years.

It only began to sink in, about his nature as revealed to him by the witch. First the master that was captured, then the horrible news dropped by the old woman. The reasons why assassins attacked them remained unknown, but he was sure that it was a trivial reason to begin with. The City of Thorns had a bad reputation when it came to sellswords. They could as well have been just another group or ordinary scumborn people, out to kill and rob.

It took him some courage to look at his own face. While the rest of his body remained human, at least in form, his visage was terrifying to look at. A shamble of skin and bubbly flesh. Here and there a misshapen bone protruded. There was no pattern to it. Just haphazard mutation.

He took up the bandages from the master’s bag. Up till now these means were used only to heal minor wounds during simple spell-casting of lighting up flames. “What would the master think of me now?”, he thought grimly, the sense of unreal slowly fading.

Aerwyn explained to him often that spells were like children; one could cast them too early or the magic would have unexpected result. The energy could explode, rend the flesh of the caster or open up portals to other dimensions. Such mages were called dark casters, for they had no light of the Sehura, the master of magic.

He wrapped his face in scarf, along with the bandages. While the effect was far from ideal, at least anyone looking at him could not see his face. The large body would still draw attention, though.

He put the bandages aside and sat down. It seemed like ages ever since he concentrated on magic. He wondered if he still could do it.

He started weaving spell. After a while, the summoned energies came around, as usual, but somehow stronger. Cerdic paused the weaving for a while, trying to understand. It seemed that the witch told him the truth: he really possessed a fragment of his master’s mind. He would never dream to weave cantrips so firmly and intricately.

Uttering a sigh of relief, he continued on his divination, seeking his master’s energy. Being his student, it would normally be easy to find him right away. But this time, he could barely feel the answer coming back to him. He realized there was something between him and his master. A barrier, but it was put rather sloppily. Cerdic remembered that there was one more weaver in the group of mercenaries. He hoped there weren’t any other beside him.

He looked inside the bag-o-tricks and put the remaining contents out. After the last events, there wasn’t much left. Couple books about general theory of magic he remembered learning from. Some scribbled notes, also about lessons: mostly about his own progress. Perusing them, he discovered that the old master wasn’t as disappointed in him as he often made it out be. There was also a broken wand, some shattered vials and couple illegible notes the wizard left behind. Anything that was of any use was a couple of smoke bombs, carefully engineered by Aerwyn. That was all. It would have to do for now.

Of course, there also was the strange red book. Ever since Cerdic read the spell, its pages turned white once again. Whatever magic was there, it already came back to its dormant state, just like before he found it.

It seemed dead somehow. Whatever cantrip was in there that was used to lock away the wizard’s personality, it sure was extinguished the moment the boy opened the book. He cast it away from himself, somehow weary.

The merc had nothing on him, save for a bit of coin. And a trinket, a glass orb attached to an eagle’s feather. The boy understood that the trinket was not a useless piece of jewellery (the man hardly seemed for someone who would be carrying such things anyway), but a key to the portal. And true enough, a simple divination revealed that it gleamed with energy that supposedly activated the portal. Cerdic didn’t know where exactly the door was. The cantrip had to be enough.

* * *

It only felt natural to return to the master, the boy felt. After all, there wasn’t anyplace he could go to. It’s always been him and the master.

Walking through the city, he realized that no one was staring at him. In the place where demons and angels bargained for a better price and monstrosities more horrible than him walked side by side, it only felt natural that an ogre-sized creature would earn a cursory glance at most. That was a relief.

The spell watch stood on the street, so he didn’t recast any of his divinatory cantrips to learn of the location of the wizard. Instead, he simply walked in the general direction, where the last answer of his spell led him to.

The sparse groups of citizens soon became large crowds as he gravitated into the poorer and less guarded part of the city. Here, the orderly villas became crowded little shops and buildings. The thick, bazaar atmosphere permeated the place as his ears filled with infinite chatter of traders. It buzzed in here like in a hive.

He walked on, cutting his way through the crowd.

Near the end of an alley, he casted his cantrip once again, this time not bothered by anyone. The answer came to him much clearer and he knew where to go. The master had to be near, he felt it.

* * *

Cerdic held the key before him, the rugged feather and glass eye. The building was abandoned and the once gilded arch crumbled down. He knew, however, that portal magic had to do little with appearances.

This time, he didn’t bother to mutter the spell. He just held the trinket before himself, watching if it would do anything at all. It did. As he approached closer, he felt a small resistance. The vortex, as if casted by some other weaver, began to form under the arch. The door and the key.

He stepped through, holding the key tightly in his hand. As always, the travel was short, but painful.

He still was within the confines of the City, he knew it. The master made it very clear that the city was not as it would seem. While it held numerous portals to other realities, it also possessed many pocket realities of its own. This one had to be one of them.

As the portal vortex silently closed behind him, he began to examine his surroundings.

* * *

The air filled constant chatter of small humans that worked tirelessly in their cubicles. They constantly weaved cantrips, small chaotic patterns appeared just above their heads. He stood dumbfounded for a little while. The clamor in the air never seemed to cease; there’s always been something clattering, smashing and exploding, little machines buzzed around.

And then, a distant memory began to dawn on him. He remembered the small leaflet he read when he and his master were in the House of the Witch. Could it really be that the gate led him to the Flying Shop of Mo’kai?

He searched furiously inside his master’s bag once more and he finally found it. He straightened out the crumpled note and examined the leaflet. The golden letters screamed at the reader:

THE MAGICKAL FLYING SHOP OF MO’KAI. ALL THE CANTRIPS JUST FOR YOU! BUY OUR SLASHERS AND RAZOR-BEDS AT YOUR LOCAL SUPPLIERS!

* * *

“The book”, said Cassius. “I tire of your games, weaver”.

He moved iron hook on table, unsure what to do next. The flesh of the wizard proved to be as malleable as everyone else’s, but his mind less so. Much, much less so. Aerwyn hung on a rope, his magnificent garments removed. The old man looked fragile, Cassius realized. Especially with wounds, burns and bruises that formed a sickly colorful mosaic on his body. “How old was he actually”, thought Cassius. He looked like sixty for human male, but one could never be sure when it came to wizards. Might as well be hundreds of years.

“I, on the other hand, am starting to enjoy it”, the wizards voice was as kind and as patient as always. It reminds me of the fate of Grognus the Almost Martyr. Having survived the rack, the boiling oil and his crucifixion somehow, he demanded for more entertainment after the tortures were over”.

Cassius ignored the man’s tirade.

“You said you didn’t know where the book is”.

“Aye, lad, that I said”, the wizard seemed to endure his wounds enough to fake a good mood. “I also said that I do not particularly recommend seeking it at all, especially for you. These energies are not safe to wield for a person who has no idea what they’re doing. And you barely have enough wit to operate these machines, you know. No offense, by the way”. The wizard’s smile was sly.

Cassius spat. “Tell me about the boy again”.

But the wizard only made a gesture of what would be a shrug, had the ropes not constrain his movements.

“Well”, he cleared his throat, “the boy is my apprentice, you know. I took him once from an orphanage and…”

“You lie, Aerwyn!”, the mercenary screamed. “The witch said the boy has always been with you!”

“Ah, Lucilla”, the wizard frowned. “I wish my sister’s tongue served more cases than only coin”.

“The boy was somehow connected to all of this”, the mercenary took a stride around the room. “Otherwise you wouldn’t risk taking him with you, that’s clear to me. You used to travel alone, always alone. But suddenly, the boy appears in the inn and he doesn’t leave you, ever. Then…”

Suddenly, the door opened and Cassius stopped talking. Turning from the tortured wizard, Cassius saw the Silent One entering.

“What is it?”, he asked impatiently as the weaver began to frantically draw patterns that appeared in the air. As the realization came to him what the mute caster was trying to say to him, he drew his sword from his scabbard.

“Let us go”, he murmured. There was a hint of anger in his voice.

Aerwyn lifted his head to examine the pattern. He recognized the language; an older version of Common, perhaps? The runes that lingered in the air for couple moments more read:

“Large man on the platform. Come quick”.

* * *

This part of the Flying Shop was less crowded, as if being a branch of the shop that never really was populated. The dutiful workers strolled about, but they were sparse. Remembering the overcrowded factorial halls, these corridors and workshops were almost abandoned.

He realized now that the laborers worked in specially designated areas, protected by walls of lead and cold iron. The link with his master was usually very strong. He understood that this was the reason why his magic did not work well in here. The master had to be in one of those spheres coated with metal.

The shop flew above the city slowly, the large cogs of various machinery surrounding it turning in unison. Cerdic had no idea why someone would make a flying magic artifact factory, but it seemed to be working precisely.

Then, a bolt lodged itself into his arm. He looked where it came from: a figure scurried away behind the construction beams.

He weaved immediately; sparks of light lit behind his fingers and the near area exploded with light. He saw her. It was the woman, he realized. One of the mercenaries. She sent another bolt toward him, this time he dodged. He chanted once more and the spell reached deep into his bones, strengthening them and his already unnaturally resilient skin. A hail of bolts followed, this time his skin deflected some of them.

Hearing curses, he chanted his own spell and the beam the woman was standing on cracked and collapsed. She fell down and he run toward her. Clunk, clunk, clunk - his large feet resonated on the steel floor as he approached. The woman tried to run, but a sprained ankle - or a broken leg - prevented her from running far.

He yanked her by the neck.

“Where is Aerwyn?”, he grunted, his voice barely distinguishable. “Where is the wizard?”

The only answer he heard was the sound of choking. He didn’t feel it, but he was squeezing too hard, to rashly. He released the grip a little and she drew air in. But he didn’t have enough time to finish what he started. Suddenly, he felt a pulse of energy around him. He turned and saw the tacit weaver. With another mercenary charging straight onto him.

Small balls of electricity flew through the air burning his skin and sending shock spasms through his body. He jumped away from the woman, barely avoiding the man’s blade. He tumbled behind the cover provided by a heap of metal.

“I’m here for the wizard”, he yelled. “Give him to me and I’m off!”

The answer was immediate. The energy stirred by the silent weaver moved right toward him. He had to tumble again. For a split second he saw the man, talking something to the woman. What was her name again? Cerdic didn’t care.

“I have the book!”, he yelled.

That seemed to take some effect, he thought. The leader held his hand up as the weaver started assembling another cantrip. The energy stopped and dissipated. “I have the damn book”, Cerdic repeated.

“Show it!”, Cassius yelled back and the boy held it high in his hand.

“You get the book, I get the wizard”, Cerdic said. “What do you say?”

More silence and more hushed conversations between the mercs, Cerdic noted. The silent one shook his head as runes appeared before him, an attempt at conversation. Cassius and the woman kept talking quickly, until finally the man rose from his knees and gestured Cerdic to come.

“You give me the book and I let you to him. You get him and you get the hell out”, he growled.

Feeling the expectant stares on him, Cerdic also slowly rose, looking at the mercenaries. The man didn’t move and still had the blade in his hand and the tacit weaver stood in readiness.

The boy slowly moved toward them and slowly laid the book on the floor and then kicked it toward Cassius who inspected it. The merc nodded, pointing his scimitar toward the steel door.

* * *

The inside was well lit. These domes - the Special Designated Areas, as the gnomes would have it - were probably meant for conducting various experiments in the shop. The lead coating these spheres were covered in was meant to contain all the energy of the cantrips inside, but here, in the less frequented part of the Shop, they seemed abandoned. As if the Flying Shop was a separate organism, always growing and expanding and letting the unused parts wither and die. The floor wasn’t as immaculate as in other parts. Cerdic could see parts of the City of Thorns below, its buildings and towers. From these chasms, the wind blew cold air.

The old man whispered a cantrip and the lock in the chains clicked, releasing his hands. He dropped down immediately and cursed. He rose, rubbing his arms. With a snap of a finger, he did the same trick and the shackles on his legs opened up as well.

The antimagic aura surrounding the sphere he was in was thick. He barely managed to land a cantrip and he knew there was no way he could do that with the tacit weaver being present at his interrogation. His body and limbs hurt, but he was through worse. He looked up and saw a dark shape moving toward him.

“Cerdic”, he said rather than asked. “The shape of your vessel is different. But you bear the same signature as always. Always the same airheaded and unsure Cerdic”.

The boy hastened, but the master put up a hand and he stopped.

“No need, no need”, the wizard said. “I’m in a relatively good shape. The fools were worried I’d die and fed me some rejuvenation mixtures, without doubt made by the same manufacturer that owns this rotten place. Clever indeed, I admire the idea of using the lead spheres, but there are definitely better methods to contain me and my cantrips”.

“That ruffian took me by surprise”, he winced. “There’s not many tacit weavers in Maer. Damned lot, you try casting anything of your own and they already know what you’re doing. But… I will be prepared the next time”.

He took a long look at the boy.

“So you opened the book”, he said. “That indeed complicates things. I believe Lucilla filled you in regarding your nature?”

“Yes”, the boy nodded.

“Well then”, the old man sighed, calculating something. “The oracle of the City of Thorns cannot tell lies, but this does not bar her from saying half-truths. I would ask you what exactly she said to you, but I expect our conversation to be rather short one, my boy. It will only be a short matter of time before my tormentors find out that the book is essentially empty and that they cannot send it to… Well, whoever sent them in the first place”.

“But why?”, Cerdic insisted. “You were like father to me. You still are. Why would you have me…”, he made a pause and shuddered. “Disassembled?”

“All creations have their place and time, boy. It was your place as a servant of me to be created and then dispersed. I do not remember hearing your complaints about not existing when you were not made”, the wizard smiled. “And I assure you, you will not feel a thing when you stop existing”.

Cerdic took a step backward.

“You would not kill me”, he said warily.

“There’s no killing when something is not living in the first place. I would not speak of life when it comes to you, boy. You were not born, but made. That is the difference between you and me. A construct, you see. Nothing wrong with that, aye. But things and people should know their place. I, for one, know my place when the Cycle finally claims me. But you… You will never enter it. Such is the nature of things. What is more, you read the book and you reprogrammed yourself to be something that you are not. It changed you, tainted you… This was not the original plan”.

“You’re not going to kill me”, Cerdic said with force.

“See? You would not say that before opening this damned book. I seeked to destroy it… But now it is too late. You know too much”.

He made a pause, reaching a decision.

“You shall be destroyed with it as well. I am sorry that things turned out that way, boy. You were never meant to know the truth. Once I’m done with these ruffians...”

The wizard paused. Cerdic heard a door break and hurried steps toward him. It was them. The mercenaries. Cassius, Elka and the tacit weaver with no name.

The first crossbow belt flied through the air.

“Called it!”, the wizard harrumphed. “You should have left me to my own devices, boy”.

* * *

Cerdic turned and and dodged another bolt. There was not much cover to hide behind as the only device in the lead sphere were torture devices brought by Cassius. He toppled it over and it crashed on the floor loudly. As he jumped behind the wooden rack, he heard the bolts lodging themselves in the wood.

Aerwyn exploded with energy. The tacit weaver immediately began counter chanting. Despite the dampening effect of the lead coating the dome they fought in, the old man still could muster chanting cantrips. A hail of energetic missles flew and this time, the weaver barely held back. But this time, the leaden coating dampened the magic that the tacit weaver produced. It was weaker. Aerwyn concentrated and the electric orbs dispersed.

“Watch and learn, boy!”, said the wizard. “I told you that lead only stops amateurs from the source of their power!”.

And then, he began weaving another cantrip. He sweated from the effort.

Cassius kicked the rack, maybe in hope that it will distract Cerdic before landing a blow. It did not matter, though. As he slashed with the blade, Cerdic was faster. The sword landed on his fist, wounded it, but that was that. He hit with full force that sent the mercenary flying across the dome. The woman screamed and tumbled over, trying to avoid him.

Cerdic stood up quickly. Aerwyn screamed as some strange force conjured by the tacit weaver pushed him toward the chasm. The silent one held a wand - another of Flying Shop’s props? Aerwyn chanted spells. He seemed as if he was struggling against a forceful gust of wind. Between the both wizards, Cerdic could see a barely visible connection of some sort, a thread as they tried to overpower each other. That was enough for Cerdic. He ran toward the old wizard, who did not notice him until the last moment.

The wizard opened his eyes wide. He didn’t expect Cerdic to rush into him. The thread he shared with the tacit weaver broke immediately. Both of them, the wizard and the boy turned monster fell on the floor.

Cerdic felt like his hands wrap around the old man’s neck, and as they did so, he felt some strange resistance, pain that radiated into his arms. It had to be another of the old man cantrips, or a sheer force of will. The tacit weaver didn’t do anything. He simply watched, as two of them struggled. The wizard, despite his waning strength, still seemed to be muttering some spells.

And then, the floor collapsed.

It had to be the tacit weaver. Cerdic noticed a sly smile on his lips as they began falling. A remnant of energy hung in the air, one of his spells. They fell. Below, the machinery kept clicking in a steady rhythm, the large cogs imbued with arcane energy kept the shop in the air, rusty pipes.

The fall didn’t take long. Cerdic hit his head, broke some more of installation and landed on a large pipe that blew steam on the other end. He rose, trying to locate the old wizard. Aerwyn already rose to his feet. He was standing on a similar pipe, precariously close to the chasm below. The night lights of the City of Thorns burned below, as if they were stars.

“They will never leave you once they understand that the piece of my soul merged with yours”, the wizard spat a tooth. “No matter. Without me, you will meet the same end. You are an automaton, boy. A doll made alive by my will”.

But Cerdic only kept silent as he jumped between pipes, closer to the wizard. Aerwyn stepped back. He wiped blood from his lips and spat again.

“But I will let you understand, as I always let you”, the wizard stepped toward the chasm. “You will come back to me, eventually, boy. To end you. Mark my words…”

“No!”, the boy screamed.

Cerdic hurried, leaped and stretched his hand. It was too late. The wizard was already falling.

“Foolish child”, Aerwyn smiled and winked. The old man disappeared in a cloud below.


End file.
